Chapter 8 - The Brussels Showdown
The conference room on the top floor of the European Union Trade Commission building in Brussels smelled of espresso, polished mahogany, and high-stakes diplomacy.
Across the long glass table sat Viktor Vance.
He looked nothing like Julian Thorne or Marilyn Prescott. Viktor was in his late sixties, with a mane of silver hair, a weathered, sun-baked face that spoke of decades spent running maritime empires, and cold, calculating pale blue eyes that had broken more competitors than he cared to remember. He wore a heavy, expensive Savile Row tweed suit, casually sipping a glass of sparkling mineral water while his legal team nervously shuffled stacks of Dutch port documents.
Flanked by David Vance and our lead European counsel, I sat directly across from him, wearing a sharp, tailored charcoal pantsuit and a silk emerald blouse—projecting an aura of absolute, unshakeable calm.
“So,” Viktor rumbled, his voice deep and raspy with a heavy European accent. “You are the young American woman who thinks she can march into the North Sea and rewrite maritime trade laws without paying tribute to the established houses.”
“Mr. Vance,” I said, my voice carrying clearly across the silent room. “The only tribute I pay is to supply-chain efficiency and international maritime law. Last time I checked, neither of those required your permission.”
Viktor’s eyebrows arched in mild amusement. He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his arms.
“You think you can bypass Rotterdam by cutting a backroom deal with Antwerp?” Viktor scoffed lightly. “My family has controlled the North Sea shipping lanes for three generations, Ms. Brooks. The Dutch labor unions will blockade your ships before they even drop anchor in Belgian waters. You’ll be bankrupt in six months.”
Before I could answer, the heavy double doors of the conference room swung open.
Elena walked in briskly, holding a fresh tablet, and handed it directly to me without a word.
I looked down at the screen, smiled faintly, and pushed the tablet across the glass table toward Viktor Vance.
“What is this?” Viktor frowned, glancing down at the display.
“That,” I said smoothly, “is a certified emergency press release issued ten minutes ago by the Antwerp Port Authority, announcing our four-hundred-million-dollar terminal development agreement.”
Viktor’s eyes scanned the screen. His arrogant smirk slowly evaporated, replaced by a sharp, sudden crease between his brows.
“And that,” I continued, pointing to a second document on the tablet, “is a formal antitrust investigation filed this morning with the EU Trade Commission by three major international shipping conglomerates, detailing how Aegis Shipping Group systematically bribed Dutch port officials to falsify environmental infractions against our zero-emission vessels.”
The color drained from Viktor’s weathered face. He looked up sharply, staring at me as if he were seeing a ghost.
“You... you orchestrated an EU antitrust probe while we were sitting in this meeting?” Viktor whispered, genuine shock breaking through his icy composure.
“Mr. Vance, in America, we call that doing business,” I said, standing up gracefully from my chair and buttoning my suit jacket. “Your monopoly in the North Sea is officially over. You can either sign the mutual cross-docking treaty granting our fleet unrestricted access to Rotterdam, or you can spend the next five years defending your corporate empire against EU fraud charges from a prison cell in The Hague.”
Viktor stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. The aging shipping titan realized, with terrifying clarity, that the twenty-nine-year-old woman standing before him wasn't an upstart amateur.
May you like
She was an absolute storm.
With shaking hands, Viktor picked up a Montblanc pen, pulled the contract toward him, and scrawled his signature across the dotted line.
